


Darlings

by wildandbeautiful



Category: The Man From U.N.C.L.E. (2015)
Genre: Established Relationship, Multi, Polyamory, Vignettes, spies in love
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-29
Updated: 2017-01-29
Packaged: 2018-09-20 17:01:46
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,024
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9501164
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wildandbeautiful/pseuds/wildandbeautiful
Summary: An experiment in brevity.(Part I: In a Hotel Room in Monte Carlo)





	

**1**

Dawn breaks outside a safehouse in the English countryside—brisk and amber.

Napoleon pulls on a shirt coming into the kitchen, sees Illya through the window, already outside. Sweat dots his brow as the axe hits the wood with a muted _thud_. Napoleon smiles, shaking his head.

An hour later, Napoleon, loaded down with waffles, fluffy and golden, maple syrup and a French press, returns to the bedroom. Gaby’s eyes are sleepy when she brings the fork to her mouth. Her smile drips syrup. Napoleon’s tongue is her napkin.

Illya joins them on the bed, dripping shower water on their skin.

 

**2**

A rainy afternoon in London. Illya and Gaby sprawl in the living room of their flat, reading. Napoleon is in Singapore.

Illya peers over the top of his Tolstoy at Gaby’s legs in short shorts. She catches him. Instead of mocking, like he expects, she holds his eye.

So slowly Illya almost sobs, lime green nails sink into her open waistband. She bites her lip, her eyelids droop as she watches him watch her. A broken sigh and arched back signal the crescendo in this aria she’s written just for him.  

The wet sound of rain patters on endlessly outside.

 

**3**

They’re in a dusty, leaking apartment in Tel Aviv. Napoleon hates it. Gaby’s too cold. Illya too hot. They are all hungry. No one is content.

Illya sulks and snaps. Gaby’s tongue is mean. Napoleon would do away with them both just for a second of privacy.

Illya reads their case files by low lamp light. Napoleon hums Wagner just to annoy Gaby.

_Napoleon_ , Gaby snaps from the bed. He goes to her, executing a dance they've all but perfected. He fucks her slow savoring the momentary escape.

Illya feasts on the sight, shivering for the first time in days.

 

**4**

They’re stuck in a closed hotel in the Swiss Alps for four weeks—snowed in.

Napoleon chases Gaby through the halls. Illya and Napoleon spar, shirtless, in the lobby. They fuck in a different room every day.

_Is this what Moscow is like?_ Gaby asks staring out at the endless white.

_Sometimes_ Illya replies kissing her bare shoulder.

_I see why you left._

Cabin fever sets in at week three. Illya jogs around the hotel. Napoleon smokes joints furtively on the back porch. Gaby raids the bar in the ballroom.

When Waverly finds them a week later they lie, three sets of legs tangled, on the chaise in the lounge.

 

**5**

They’re in Berlin when Gaby’s captured. An underground criminal organization wants to trade her for one of theirs.

For three nights Illya and Napoleon curl next to each other, worried hands working chafed skin.

On the day of, Napoleon meets Gaby on the bridge.

_Where’s our Russian?_ She asks under her breath on the walk back.

_Watching_ , Napoleon says.

Illya clocks them through his scope.

Gaby speaks into Napoleon’s earpiece

_Then I’ll say to you both: I’ve missed you my darling._

Illya smiles, the words clear through his own earpiece.

_You have no idea_ , Napoleon’s voice shakes as they reach the other side.  

 

**6**

Napoleon and Illya track an arms dealer to Rio. Gaby calls their hotel from the London flat.

She touches herself to the sound of Napoleon going down on Illya.

_Miss me?_ she asks as their sweat dries.

_Yes_ , Napoleon says, voice raw.

_Liar_.

_Lie to you? Never._ She can hear the sincerity in his voice under the smile.

_It will be cold there tonight_ , Illya chimes in over the line.

She thinks of their empty king size bed, her lovers miles away, and silently agrees.

_Put extra blanket on bed tonight, Chop Shop Girl_.

It's better than _I love you_.

 

**7**

In Rio Napoleon takes a forty-five minute shower. He washes off strangers’ perfume and lipstick. When he comes out, skin scrubbed red, Illya is returning the phone to its cradle.

_Gaby?_ he asks. He slides naked into the sheets.

Illya nods, switching off the light. He idly traces a scar on Napoleon’s shoulder. Napoleon tenses.

_It feels like betrayal._

_Is not real,_ Illya whispers. His large hand rests on the small of his back, holding him close. _We love you the same, Cowboy._

A hollow laugh. _Who knew you were so sentimental, Peril?_

Illya kisses the shell of Napoleon’s ear.    

 

**8**

At the safehouse in the country Napoleon reads Kipling under a tree. Gaby walks over in a white dress, tucking apples into a basket.

_The Jungle Book?_ she asks sitting beside him. _Thinking of running off into the wild?_

_Well if the whole spy thing doesn't work out,_ he quips.

She’s glowing in her white dress. He presses a thumb into the skin above her collarbone. She smiles, looks back at the house.

_I’m going to see what Illya is doing_ , she sighs. _I bet he’s reading something serious and depressing._

He whistles as she skips back into the house.  

 

**9**

_The trick is to make them think that it's their idea._

In a bunker car on the Orient Express Gaby lies on top of Illya while Napoleon speaks to them from the top bunk.

_That's a hustle._

_Don’t let him corrupt you, Chop Shop Girl._

_Is that how you got us into your bed?_ Gaby teases, knowing it isn’t true.

She’s too savvy to be hustled, and from the moment he let her tackle him in Rome, Gaby knew Illya didn’t need to be. But she’ll stroke Napoleon’s ego a bit and let him think he did.

Napoleon says nothing.   

 

**10**

In a hotel in Monte Carlo Napoleon Solo holds his darlings, three faces pressed together as something gaudy and French plays over the radio. He thinks of the end of this, of a single in New York. Of them flung across the world. His chest caves.

In a hotel room in Monte Carlo Illya Kuryakin kisses his dark haired beauties, awestruck as they crowd him against a wall. His hands shake with a restless energy he’s never known.

In a bed in Monte Carlo, Gaby Teller, an orphan from Berlin, fosters peace between the United States and the Soviet Union.


End file.
